Warm Milk and Honey
by Micayasha
Summary: Of old lullabies and the soothing of nightmares. .:GIPPALxBARALAI:.


Baralai loved to hear Gippal sing.

Sometimes, when he woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, pulse racing, biting down on a scream, he wasn't able to keep from waking Gippal. And it was a little embarrassing, sure, but Baralai couldn't deny that the way Gippal looked at him, warm and worried and without an ounce of pity (because he knows he couldn't handle it if there was _pity_ in that sad gaze) – well, it always seemed to make him melt a bit.

Baralai knew Gippal had nightmares of his own, but they never seemed as frequent or as strong, and he wondered if Gippal was simply better at hiding them, or if maybe – and Baralai would like to think this, for Gippal's sake – those memories were starting to be a little less painful.

For him, though, the sensation of pyreflies squirming around his insides, of alien emotions and thoughts that weren't his own, was all too fresh. The first night that his nightmares woke Gippal, he was cruel. He remembers snapping, lashing out because maybe Gippal wouldn't feel so sorry for him if he was a jerk. Instead, Gippal had just tugged him forward, pressing their mouths together softly but insistently. Baralai had relaxed for a moment, because he knew this part, and it rid the situation of awkwardness and uncertainty. But then he'd been pulled in closer, until his head rested on Gippal's shoulder and he could feel the warmth of Gippal's neck against his cheek. It had been strange, and alarming, and Baralai hadn't known how to react because this wasn't the same as kissing or touching or sex. This was – real intimacy. It was unfamiliar and unnerving and Baralai almost pulled back. But there was a gentleness in the way Gippal's arms folded around him, fingers sliding through his hair and tracing patterns on the back of his neck, and he was lost.

And then Gippal had begun to hum. Baralai could feel the vibrations in Gippal's throat and closed his eyes, trying to place the tune. It didn't sound at all familiar, but it was quite obviously a lullaby.

Part of him was touched, but mostly he was just insulted. "I'm not a child," he said, though the song was far more calming than he'd like to admit.

"I know that." Gippal's voice was light, unperturbed. "Adults have nightmares."

"I mean the—"

"It always helped me when I was a kid," Gippal cut in. "My mother used to sing it to me. It's an old Al Bhed lullaby."

That explained why Baralai didn't recognize it.

"Do you really want me to stop?"

Baralai hesitated, listening to Gippal's heart thud against his ear. "Yes," he said, because his ego had taken enough blows for the night. The look Gippal gave him when he pulled away seemed to say that he wasn't fooling anybody, but the song stopped regardless.

Baralai could still see the glow of the pyreflies when he closed his eyes. He didn't protest when Gippal's hand slipped into his.

The next time, Baralai didn't mention the lullaby but Gippal began anyway, this time with words that meant nothing to Baralai but sounded beautiful all the same.

Gippal's voice always sounded different in Al Bhed, and it was even stranger in an Al Bhed song. No, not strange, Baralai decided – just different from the way he spoke in Spiran. Gippal's voice was deeper, more fluid when he spoke Al Bhed, and he relaxed so much more: everything seemed to come easier. It sent a shiver through Baralai to hear him singing in his own tongue. Gippal didn't have a singing voice that would make one's jaw drop, but he could certainly carry a tune, and his rough, husky tone made his voice so much more pleasing to the ear.

There was just something about his singing, Baralai thought as Gippal murmured lyrics into his shoulder. A hand ran along the curve of his spine as Gippal's breath blew hot over his neck, and Baralai smiled into his folded arms. Gippal was stretched out along the length of his body, half-draped over his back like a living blanket, and though no nightmares had plagued him tonight, Gippal was singing into his skin.

It was odd, he thought, closing his eyes as kisses rained down on his shoulder between verses. There were a hundred cures for nightmares and insomnia, and yet somehow the sound of Gippal's low voice, singing words he didn't understand, soothed him more than anything else in the world.


End file.
